A Lucky Accident
by Monj
Summary: Mark has an unfortunate accident while filming something he wishes he hadn't been filming.  Very PreRent.  MarkRoger
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone, it's been a while since I've written rentfic, and now I'm back with this. It's been sitting in my documents for a while now, so I thought I'd finish it. Basically, it is an excuse to write massive amounts of fluff, so take that for what it's worth - it's just intended to be cute and funny. Also, it's technically a Scrubs crossover, but really I just didn't want to make up my own hopsital, so don't worry if you don't watch Scrubs, and enjoy the random Scrubs appearance if you do. Thanks, and I hope you enjoy this!**

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Mark looked up from his dreary contemplation of his leg to see Roger charge into the room and slam the door. "Roger—" he began, surprised to see him there again.

"Hide me!" Roger yelped, looking around the room. He ran around Mark's bed and dove onto the floor behind it just as the door swung back open to reveal Carla, the nurse on duty.

"Where is he?" she asked, scanning the room. "I _told_ him he can't be in here now unless he's family!" She pulled the door out and looked behind it as she spoke. Mark knew Carla was extremely nice, as she had spent an hour playing cards with him in between dashing to check on people, but now she looked exasperated. He could understand it if she had been dealing with Roger.

"Hello Carla," he said as innocently as he could. He liked Carla, but he wasn't going to give away his best friend if he could help it. Maybe she'd give up if he acted confused. "Who are you talking about?"

She paused and smiled at him. "Good evening, Mr. Cohen," she said. She came around to the foot of the bed and her smile vanished. "Mr. Davis! I can see you, so get up right now! You're not allowed to be here," she said, eyes narrowed.

Roger picked himself off the floor and gave Mark a sheepish smile. Mark smiled back and shook his head, wondering what exactly Roger had tried to get in before apparently just making a run for it.

"Family only," Carla insisted, tapping her fingers on the chart she was carrying.

Mark put on his best pathetic look. "Please?" he asked. Roger had been here earlier with Collins and Benny, but they hadn't been able to stay long, and he had been left to contemplate the hospital sheets and long for his camera the rest of the day. He hadn't expected Roger to come back, but he didn't want him to leave now that he was here. "He basically _is_ my family. They're certainly not going to come all the way to the city for a just a broken leg," he said bitterly. It wasn't like he had messed up his knee also and had had to stay at the hospital for observation or anything. It wasn't like he was going to be hobbling around on crutches for a long time and could use some cheering up. It was a long drive when Mark was going to be out of the hospital in a day or two. Besides, people broke legs all the time…

Roger put his hand on Mark's shoulder, his thumb kneading some of the tension away. He knew Mark's family were a sore point with him. Carla caught his tone too, and her stern expression softened a little, but she didn't back down. "It's the rules," she persisted.

Roger continued to massage Mark's shoulder. Most of his attention, however, remained on Carla; Mark could practically hear the charm turn on. "I'm his brother?" he said with a grin. Mark could see Carla soften a bit more under the force of that grin, but she still shook her head. "Cousin?" Roger offered, "Step-brother? Brother-in-law? Uncle?" Carla's head shakes were getting slower with each word. Then Roger put on his patented stage-brightening, fan-melting, head-turning, drool-worthy rock-star grin, the one he had worked to perfect during his concerts, and Mark was surprised Carla just didn't fall over from the force of it. "I promise I'll be good," Roger said, "No one will even know I'm here."

"Wellllllll," Carla said, and Mark made his pathetic face even more pathetic. "Okay, but don't give me any more trouble. I'll be back in to check later. And don't let anyone else see you!" She left the room, still looking over her shoulder at Roger. She shut the door behind her.

Mark looked up at Roger to find him still doing the rock star look. "You can turn it off, idiot," he said, "There's no one left for you to impress."

Roger fake-pouted. "You mean you don't fall for it every time you see it?" he asked teasingly, letting go of Mark's shoulder and grabbing a plastic chair with one hand and dragging it beside the bed.

Mark wasn't about to answer that one. "I didn't expect you back today," he said instead, shifting as much as he could with his leg all trussed up in casts and bandages to face Roger. He kind of wished Roger had kept standing and rubbing his shoulder.

"The loft was too quiet with only me there," Roger explained, "Collins said they wouldn't let me in, but I figured I'd try. And I brought you something."

"My camera?" Mark said eagerly. Being a whole day without it had been tortuous.

Roger laughed. "I can't believe you want it so badly, when it's the reason you're here," he said.

Mark blushed. "It's the first time that's happened!" he protested.

Roger smirked. "Maybe next time you should get your eyes out of the camera and on the stairs," he teased, "and I can't believe that thing was the first thing you asked about when you hit the bottom." Mark scowled, and he laughed. "I figured you'd want that, but I couldn't fit it under my jacket. So you'll have to settle with me." He batted his eyelids at Mark flirtatiously.

"Gifts are supposed to make you feel better, not worse," Mark teased as Roger mock scowled.

"And you're supposed to be nice to visitors," he retorted.

Mark laughed, and then sobered. "Yeah, I guess. Thanks for coming, man. I really do appreciate it," he said seriously. It meant a lot that Roger would go through the trouble of sneaking back when he'd already visited once, and Mark was sure that Roger would rather be working with his band or something, anything other than sitting in a boring hospital. He knew they were friends, pretty good friends, but that was a ways from spending hours beside someone's hospital bed.

Roger looked surprised. "You're my best friend, man. Of course I'm going to visit you," he said, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. "Did you really think I wouldn't?"

"Well you already visited," Mark pointed out, his mind hooked on "best friend." Did Roger really consider him his best friend? When he spent so much time with his band, who had a lot more in common with him than Mark did?

"So?"

Mark could feel himself turning red. "So I didn't think you'd come again," he mumbled, feeling like an ass. "Since I'm getting out in a day or two." Why should he expect it, when his own family hadn't come to see him even once? Roger's face as he leaned back was inscrutable, and Mark hoped he hadn't made him mad so he'd leave.

Luckily Roger decided to let him off the hook on that remark, because he grinned, and Mark relaxed a little. "How am I supposed to make fun of you for falling down the stairs because you were filming if I don't visit?" Roger asked.

Mark blushed some more. "Shut up," he mumbled. That was like Roger. Break any serious moment with teasing.

Silence fell between them at that, and just before it got awkward, Roger spoke up. "Did they tell you anything new…about it?" he asked, making a vague motion towards Mark's leg.

Mark made a face. "Well, besides breaking my leg, I also fucked up my knee when I fell. I didn't break it, but I twisted it or something like that, which is why they're making me stay for a couple of days. They wanted to make sure I didn't do anything serious to it."

He noticed Roger was a shade paler than he'd been before. "But you'll be able to walk and shit, right?" Roger asked, looking back up at Mark's face.

"Yeah, yeah," Mark assured him. "I have to completely keep off my feet for a week, and then it's crutches for a long time though," he said glumly. He thought for a second about how exactly that was going to work out, and how he was going to keep from going insane.

"I'll make up your shifts for you until you can get up again, man," Roger assured him, referring to the small record store where they both worked. Usually it was Mark covering Roger's shifts when Roger's band called a last minute practice session or the like. Mark was touched that Roger would cover for him for a whole week. Damn, sitting in this stupid, white hospital room was making him sentimental. Oh well, at least he wouldn't lose his job over this too.

"Thanks," he said, and then had no idea what else to say.

He was about to say something else thanking Roger, when Roger once again broke the serious mood. "I actually did bring you something, besides my wonderful self," he announced, bending and searching under the bed. He came up with a notebook and a handful of pens from where he must have thrown them while hiding from Carla.

Mark brightened. "My notebook!" he said, reaching for it.

Roger handed them over quickly. "I figured you could use some entertainment," he said. "And this was the best I could do without lugging your camera in, which I'm pretty sure that nurse would have taken exception to."

Mark thumbed through the pages just because he could, feeling the sight of his own work begin to rejuvenate his spirits. It's amazing, how a small thing like this could make him feel better. Now tomorrow he could feel productive, instead of helpless and lump-like. He looked back up at Roger, a smile stretching shyly across his face. "Thank you," he said, before ducking his face again, embarrassed a little to have such a big reaction to such a small thing.

"Hey, it's no problem," Roger said, leaning forward and dropping the pens on Mark's lap. His hand drifted up to rest on Mark's shoulder for a brief moment before he sat back. Mark looked back up at him, suddenly hyper aware of that small touch. Roger had touched him on the shoulder before of course. They were really good friends, past the stage when either of them thought anything about most physical contact, but this was a lot more deliberate, and it was a lot gentler than the Roger that he was used to. It was the Roger that he saw when Roger didn't know anyone was watching, or when Roger was so lost in writing songs or playing that he forgot where he was. It was definitely the Roger that first led his feelings from best friend over that invisible line to crush.

Now it was Roger's turn to look down, and Mark began to wonder if he wasn't reading too much into that touch after all, and that maybe there was a chance that Roger felt the same… But then Roger settled back into the chair, and his easy smile reappeared. "So, are you going to tell me what you were filming so intently that you tried to kill yourself?"

So he'd been imagining it. They were good friends and that was it. Why would Roger feel anything physical towards him anyway? He was the one that endless amounts of people had crushes on. Just because he didn't have a girl or boy friend currently and hadn't for a while didn't mean anything.

So Mark sat back himself, notebook on his lap, and tried to think of what he could say besides the truth, which was that he'd been filming Roger's ass. A serious slip in judgment that he was paying for now. "Well, umm—"

"Just admit you were filming my ass," Roger joked, giving a broad wink. Mark nearly choked, wondering if Roger could read minds, but he managed to get himself under control.

"Yeah, because you're worth falling down a flight of stairs for." Which he was, but at least the banter was distracting Roger from really finding out that it was true. Now if he could just keep this up…


	2. Chapter 2

**So here's part two of five - thanks to those who reviewed, it's really good to hear feedback. Enjoy!**

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Roger's ears nearly perked at Mark's telltale twitch at the mention of filming his ass. He'd been right then. Mark did like him, he just hadn't mentioned it yet. He'd actually done a fairly good job at hiding it too, just not good enough. It took a lot to hide sexual attraction from Roger – he looked for it so vigilantly after all. But Mark had managed to nearly conceal his beneath their normal friendly banter, and it wasn't until Roger had intercepted a few lingering glances and caught a few stutters that he'd realized it. And now he was positive of it.

Just to be certain of it though, he dropped a few more suggestive comments into the conversation and had the satisfaction of seeing Mark blush or twitch or look away at every single one. Yeah, Mark liked him.

That was a good thing. He'd decided that he'd liked that idea when it had first occurred to him, and he'd been looking for signs it was true ever since. They were good friends, and they understood each other. In Roger's mind, it was a short step from that to relationship. And finally, Mark was slipping up a little. He allowed himself a few internal moments to bask in that fact before he began deciding what to do. Make a move, of course. That was a given. But what move? That Mark was either too shy or too uncertain to make his own move said something, and Roger didn't want to just jump him and scare him away. He didn't want to ruin anything either; Mark was the best friend he'd had, ever, and you didn't throw that away lightly.

He responded to what Mark said, making his friend blush again, and then waited for Mark's reply, flexing back until his spine popped, enjoying the back and forth and thinking. Slow, he had to make it slow, at least at first.

The hours sped past while Roger was trying to think of an opening. True to her word Carla had stopped in once, but surprisingly she hadn't made Roger leave. Maybe it was because Mark was finally starting to look relaxed, or as relaxed as he could look sitting in a hospital bed with a busted leg. He hadn't done that when Roger had been here to visit earlier, with Collins.

The second time Carla came in, she handed Mark a small cup and a bigger cup of water. "Pain meds," she announced. "To help you sleep." She shot Roger a glance at this, but didn't say anything else. Roger took this as permission to stay, since he was behaving. Mark swallowed the meds with a grimace at his leg and handed the cups back. There was silence between them as Carla left again, before Mark yawned wide enough to crack his jaw.

"Damn, those pills work fast," Roger observed.

Mark gave a wan smile, and Roger noticed again how much frailer than normal he looked, the white of the hospital gown making him look beyond pale. Besides messing up his leg, he'd also gotten some interesting bruises, including one that peeked out from under his spiky blonde hair. Mark yawned again. "They woke me up at seven for tests," he admitted, leaning back against his pillows.

Roger looked at the clock and raised an eyebrow. It was late for someone who'd been up since seven. "You should have told me to leave, man. So you can get some rest and feel better and all that shit." He grabbed his jacket and started to rise, resigned to postponing making any moves until Mark was back in the loft where he belonged.

"No!" Mark blurted, and Roger froze, half out of the chair. He looked at Mark curiously, and Mark blushed. "I mean, no, you don't have to go," he said. "I'm not that tired."

Roger correctly interpreted that as "I would rather talk myself into exhaustion than sit by myself in this fucking depressing room again," and set his jacket back down on the chair. "You're such a liar," he accused, a smile rolling across his face.

Mark flushed a little more and uncertainly licked his dry lips. Roger's smile widened as Mark stuttered. "Well, I mean…you don't have to stay either. I'm sure you have better things to do. In fact, yeah, maybe you should go."

Roger wasn't put off by this abrupt turn around. In fact, he was encouraged by it. The stronger of feelings you had for someone, the more you felt confused and stammery when you were around them—it was the truth. "You," he announced to Mark, dropping back down into the chair, "need to calm the fuck down."

When Mark just stared at him, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "If you want me to stay, even though you're about to pass out, just say so," he said sincerely, not trying to hide behind banter for the moment. "And you don't need to push yourself to stay awake either," he added.

Mark's mouth opened, but nothing came out. He swallowed and tried again. "I'd like you…to stay," he admitted softly. The words were cracked and uncertain, and Roger knew that Mark was wondering what the hell was going on.

"Then I'll stay," Roger said simply. And suddenly he knew this was it, A Moment. With capital letters and everything, just like the kind that was on every fucking soap opera in the history of television. He hadn't thought they actually happened in real life, but he went with it. Reaching forward, he took a hold of Mark's hand.

It was almost comical, how Mark's eyes got wide and his mouth fell open. His hand twitched, like he was going to pull back, but then he was gripping Roger's hand hard. "Roger?" he asked, voice cracking even more as he looked up from their joined hands to Roger's face. "Wha—"

Roger cut him off by levering himself up with a hand on the bed railing, taking care not to let go of Mark's hand, and pressing his lips against Mark's. A short, extremely (for Roger) chaste kiss, and then Roger pulled back, dragging at Mark's lower lip slightly with his teeth.

Predictably, Mark started to speak as soon as he could draw in a breath. "What—" he said, managing to get a full word out this time before Roger interrupted him.

"It's okay, Mark. I know," Roger said significantly. He saw Mark's eyes widen as he took Roger's meaning. He was starting to look distressed, but he was still clutching at Roger's hand, although Roger would have taken bets that he didn't know he was doing it.

"B-but how?" Funny, how Mark had suddenly developed a stutter, Roger thought in amusement.

"I said just calm down," he reiterated, giving Mark's hand a light squeeze and running his thumb across the palm. That focused Mark's attention on their hands, and he could see Mark take a deep breath and visibly relax himself. Satisfied, he continued, "We can talk about it later." He didn't want Mark to feel trapped into this because he couldn't leave the room or even the bed. Time enough to hash things out later.

They both just stared at their hands for a few seconds, and Roger was half expecting Mark to freak out, because it was difficult to go from hiding your feelings to finding out that the other person _knew_. So when Mark asked "Really?" he just said "Yes." Short, simple, emphatic.

"But…me?"

"Yes, you."

There was another pause, and then, "Are you sure?"

"Mark!" Roger half growled, both exasperated that Mark wouldn't just shut up and amused, because he had the upper hand, and it was kind of fun to make Mark squirm a little bit.

Mark looked at him, and Roger was relieved to see a glint in his eye. If Mark was up to joking, then he was cool with this.

Mark yawned again, and this time Roger guessed it was the pills taking effect. He twisted his hand around so their fingers were entwined, and Mark squeezed back. He was leaning back against his pillows again, looking at their hands again with a goofy smile on his face. Roger could see his eyes drooping and guessed the pills were hitting him fast, but he could also see that Mark was fighting to stay awake.

"Mark. _Mark_," he said slightly louder to get Mark's attention. He kept his face completely serious as Mark looked up at him.

"What?" Mark asked uncertainly.

"Fucking go to sleep," Roger deadpanned.

Mark blinked at him a few times and then made a face. "You are such a bully, you know that?"

Roger cracked a smile. "Only if I don't get my way," he joked.

"'should stay up just to spite you," Mark mumbled, but he'd already closed his eyes. "Night, Roger."

"Night, Mark." Roger smiled and didn't pull his hand away. It was only a matter of a few minutes before Mark's breathing had evened out and his grip had relaxed. He must have really been tired, Roger thought.

He still didn't leave though. He'd just stay a little bit longer, to make sure Mark was really asleep. He did gently pull his hand away and get up to turn out the lights. Somehow, dark but for the lights coming from under the door, the room didn't seem quite so harsh. He sat back down and reached for Mark's hand again before he knew what he was doing. There really wasn't any reason for him to stay, he told himself. But he didn't go, just kept holding Mark's hand and rubbing his thumb across the palm, because Mark hadn't wanted him to leave…

He woke up a couple of hours later to find himself slumped over onto the bed, his hand still holding on to Mark's. This had to be the most uncomfortable position he'd ever slept in, he thought, cringing as his back protested moving vigorously. He managed to sit up and get some feeling back into his arms and legs.

Biting back a groan, he looked at the clock. It was late, it could almost be qualified as morning, actually, and Roger grimaced at the thought of stumbling back to the loft right now. He sat back in the chair, slumping against the wall and looking at Mark, who hadn't stirred. In fact, it looked like he hadn't moved at all. Roger smiled and could feel himself going back to sleep. With an effort, he sat up. He didn't want to fall asleep again and wake up even stiffer than he already was. Although he really didn't want to stay awake either…

Mentally throwing up his hands and saying "Fuck it" he carefully wormed his way onto the bed next to Mark, curling on his side around him. It was a tight fit, but much more comfortable than the chair. Mark didn't wake up, and Roger was very careful not to jar him too much. Sleepily, he knew in the back of his mind that Carla, and possibly Mark, was going to be very angry at him in the morning, but he didn't really care. Curling his hand back around Mark's, he promptly fell asleep after a final mental note not to move suddenly when he woke up.


	3. Chapter 3

**And the morning after scene, part 3 of 5. Thank you for reading and reviewing!**

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"Mr. Davis! What do you think you are doing?" 

Mark stirred as he heard Carla's voice from over by the door, coming awake slowly. More slowly than usual, because his brain had more than usual to process. First, why was Carla yelling at Roger? And second, why couldn't he move his right side? He made the connection as he pried his eyes open to see Roger's bleach blonde hair just inches away. The weight against his side resolved itself into Roger, pressed tightly against him. His eyes darted the other way to Carla, who was staring at them with a slightly scandalized look on her face.

He closed his eyes again and wondered that if he pretended to still be asleep, this would all go away. He didn't feel up to dealing with it right now, immediately after waking up. But his conscience made him open them again and attempt to wriggle into more of a sitting position. It was difficult, both because of his leg and because Roger was in the way, but he managed with a minimum of pain.

Carla was standing with her hands on her hips and looking at him now instead of Roger. Mark swallowed. "Would you care to explain this, Mr. Cohen?"

"Ummm…" No, he wouldn't, because he wasn't exactly sure what "this" was either. When and how had Roger ended up in bed next to him? "Well…" He dug his elbow lightly into Roger's side, because Roger still hadn't woken up and, damn it, he was the one that should be explaining this!

Roger made a noise of protest, slid down so his face was between Mark's shoulder and the pillow, and shifted so that his arm was around Mark's waist. Mark instantly wriggled uncomfortably and looked at Carla again. She still looked irritated, but he thought he could see a trace of amusement in her frown.

"This breaks an awful lot of rules, Mr. Cohen, as I'm sure you are aware," she said sternly.

"Sorry?" Mark offered, not sure what else to say. He elbowed Roger again, a little harder. "I really didn't know…"

The second elbow, at least, got Roger to move more, although Mark could feel him grumbling against his shoulder. He shifted again, and Mark could tell the exact time he actually woke up, because his lower body instantly went still and he tried to sit up without moving below his waist.

"Good morning to you too," he grumbled, almost taking a face plant back into the pillow as his hand slipped. "'m sure it's too early—" He finally noticed Carla standing there and stopped talking. "Oh."

"Mr. David, would _you_ care to explain yourself?" Carla asked again, tapping her foot.

"Umm…" Roger carefully swung his legs down so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. "I was tired?" He smiled sleepily. Mark wasn't sure how he did it, but he looked like he hadn't a clue as to what he'd done wrong.

Carla wasn't taken in this time, however. "I said you could stay longer, I didn't say you could spend the night," she said ominously.

Roger's smile turned a trifle nervous and he shifted backwards so that he was touching Mark.

"Besides breaking a lot of rules, you could have damaged his leg even more, Mr. Davis," she continued.

Roger turned pale, and Mark, after a hesitation and a false start, laid a hand on his arm. His leg didn't feel any worse than it had yesterday, and he couldn't remember moving much last night, so he didn't think that had happened.

Roger looked at him then, and Mark shook his head a little. Roger smiled a little then, and Mark let his hand fall back on the bed. They both shifted to watch Carla as she rounded the bed to look at Mark's injured leg. "Any unusual pain?" she asked. Mark shook his head again. She finished examining and leveled Roger a stare. "It looks fine, Mr. Davis, but you're going to have to leave now. The doctors will be here in a minute to take a look at Mr. Cohen."

"Do I have to?" Roger asked at the same time Mark blurted out, "Can't he stay?"

Carla looked between the two of them and blinked. "I'm sorry. I've bent the rules enough," she finally said.

Roger gave Carla a dark look, which she returned, and for a minute Mark thought the room would explode. He felt a wriggle of embarrassment that he'd asked Roger to stay _again_; he'd already asked him, sort of, to stay last night, and now Roger was going to think he's a baby. But really, now that Mark had gotten used to company, he just didn't want to go back to sitting and staring at the walls.

It wasn't Carla who looked away though, and Roger looked back down at Mark and shrugged. Mark tried to smile and shrugged back. He didn't want to get Roger banned from future visits or make Carla mad. She was just doing her job after all.

"I guess I'll see you later then," Roger said. He looked back at Carla, but she didn't challenge that statement, and Mark brightened a little. He could get through the day if he knew that Roger would be back to visit; yesterday had been so depressing partly because he hadn't thought he'd get any more visitors before he left.

"Yeah…" Mark trailed off, not sure exactly what to say. Their relationship had changed, but he wasn't sure what it had changed into, and while he was glad of the change it still left him very uncertain.

Roger, apparently, had no such problems. He easily reached over and gripped Mark's shoulder. "Find out when you can come home," he said, rubbing his thumb over Mark's collarbone, "And I'll be back with Collins in a few hours." His hand ran up the side of Mark's neck to feather through his hair affectionately.

Carla sighed loudly. "You can stay until the doctor comes," she said grudgingly to Roger. "But you absolutely, positively have to leave then." She pointed warningly at Roger, who grinned again.

Mark straightened up too, staring as Carla left the room again. "How did you manage to get Carla into your clutches so fast?" he asked Roger. He was sad when Roger brought his hand down and out of Mark's hair.

"I've told you _no one_ is immune to my charm," Roger claimed. He leaned in and kissed Mark again, and Mark was somewhat relieved that he'd waited until Carla had left the room. But mostly he was happy that Roger hadn't rethought what he'd done last night, that it hadn't just been exhaustion and stress coloring that conversation. He was relieved enough to react to Roger's kiss this time, pushing back and running his teeth over Roger's lip.

Roger half growled, and then he braced his hand on the pillow beside Mark's head and leaned even further in, chasing Mark's mouth until Mark gave a contented hum. He felt an odd mix of frustration, since they both knew that nothing could really happen here, and happiness, because now that Roger liked him back he could at least have this much. He felt renewed irritation for his leg for keeping him trapped here, especially when Roger pulled back.

"See?" Roger said with a smirk, and it took Mark at least ten seconds of blinking at him to figure out what the hell Roger was talking about.

He shook his head and tried to recover some ability to think. "That doesn't count," he finally countered. "You've had years to work your evil influence on me, and you've only seen Carla like…three times."

Roger grinned, and Mark inwardly glowed as he realized that the grin was all for him now, and he could read into it anything he wanted. No more trying to fake distance and just be friends. With Roger's face only a few inches from his, it would have been impossible to pretend that distance was there anymore anyways. He felt his lips stretching back into a smile, reacting automatically to Roger's grin.

The smile changed into surprise as a dry voice said from behind Roger, "Well, I do so hate to interrupt you two love birds, but this _is _a hospital, and I need to check out Mr. Cohen's leg here since I am, I don't know, _his doctor_."

There was no mistaking Dr. Cox's for anyone else's, and Mark almost blushed. He did squirm a little, imagining what other choice comments Dr. Cox would grace him with now, but to his surprise, Dr. Cox merely stood there, arms folded, and waited for a response. The man was an extremely competent doctor, and Mark felt confident with anything Dr. Cox told him, but there was no denying that the man spared no one his tongue. Mark had spent quite a few very uncomfortable minutes since Dr. Cox had learned what had caused him to break his leg; there was no telling what he would make of learning Roger had spent the night in Mark's hospital bed.

Still facing Mark, Roger's eyes first widened in surprise at the interruption, and then narrowed once he caught the heavily sarcastic tone, and for the second time that morning Mark thought that the room would explode. Roger slowly turned to face Dr. Cox, his posture stating that he was not intimidated.

Mark knew that Roger's temper ran short at perceived insults, and that he would be especially touchy after losing the facedown to Carla, and he braced himself to try to grab Roger if he tried to do anything. The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, and then to Mark's surprise, Roger relaxed. He slipped Mark a sly look. "Well, I guess I'd better get off then," he said, just as dryly.

Mark choked and wished he could kick Roger.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Dr. Cox' face, and he approached the bed. Roger slid off to perch on the plastic chair again. Mark was sure that he was blushing again, and that he was never going to let Roger out in public near him after this. And of course Dr. Cox noticed Mark's discomfort. "Problems there, Sparky?"

Mark shot Roger a glance and muttered, "A few."

Dr. Cox quirked an eyebrow. "Uh-huh."

Roger grinned at him from behind Dr. Cox's back, and Mark tried not to bash his head against the headboard. Dr. Cox had just walked into the room and he and Roger were already in cahoots.

The examination didn't take long, and Dr. Cox straightened up and looked at Mark once he'd finished. "Well then, I'd say you got lucky, Mr. Cohen. Everything looks fine, and it doesn't look like there are any major problems with your knee."

Mark exhaled in relief. He hadn't admitted it, but the possibility that he'd messed up his knee enough to need surgery to fix it had scared him a lot. A few seconds later, he thought he'd been a moment too soon with that relief, because Carla walked into the room. Her eyebrows flew up with she saw Roger.

"Mr. Davis!" she exclaimed. Dr. Cox turned around and looked between Roger and Carla with interest. "I told you to leave once the doctor got here!"

She glared as Roger hastily got up. "I guess I'll see you later then, Mark," he said, grabbing his jacket. He grinned at Mark and Dr. Cox, and tried to grin at Carla, but it slid off his face when she didn't respond. Clearly she had reached the limit that Roger could charm her to. "Uhh, see you," he said again, squeezing past her through the door. Carla just snorted and walked over to Mark with a tray of food.

Dr. Cox looked down at him when she left. "What exactly did he do to piss off Carla?" he asked.

Mark sighed. "When can I go home?" he asked instead, dodging the question. At least at home, Roger couldn't embarrass him in front of other people.


	4. Chapter 4

**Next to the last bit - it's a little longer than the first three. Thank you everyone who keeps reading and reviews! Enjoy. **

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Roger watched Mark slowly walk into the building and reminded himself that Mark didn't want help every step of the way, and that he should give Mark a little distance. It was just hard to see him struggle with the huge cast and crutches, and to also know that Mark wasn't supposed to be up at all yet and they'd promised to keep him off his feet for at least a week.

But their building was not built for wheelchairs, and Mark would not have let Roger carry him, even if Roger could have gotten him up the stairs. He stepped forward as one crutch slipped on a broken tile. "Here—" he said, reaching out.

Mark glared. "I'm _fine_," he said, and Roger quickly backed off. He wasn't sure why, but as soon as Roger and Collins had come to pick him up, Mark had become very closed off and snappish. It baffled him; Mark had been fine the afternoon he'd come back after sleeping in Mark's hospital bed, so it couldn't be a reaction from that, could it? He'd thought that Mark had been surprised, maybe a little shocked, but mostly okay with that. He'd let Roger kiss him again anyway. He'd been fine for the few days after that night that they'd kept him in the hospital. He'd been fine until they came to take him home. He trailed Mark into the building, the bag with Mark's clothes slung over his shoulder. Collins followed, shutting the door behind them.

He let Mark hobble on alone without saying anything until Mark got to the foot of the stairs. But when Mark stuck his good foot on the bottom stair, he had to step in. "Hell no," he protested. "You can't walk all the way up the stairs on your own. Not without reinjuring yourself."

Mark gave him an unamused look, but Collins stepped in. "He's right, Mark," he said benignly. Mark gave him a look too, which Collins ignored. "You aren't supposed to be on your feet at all, which you know, seeing as how the doctor told us that an hour ago."

"Well we can't exactly get a wheelchair up to the loft," Mark said, jerking his head up the stairs. He looked so unlike the Mark Roger was used to, awkwardly slung over crutches with the cast looking overwhelmingly heavy on his leg. What wasn't taken up with the cast was covered with a knee brace, and Roger silently thanked God that Mark's parents had at least covered the hospital bills, because that thing had been expensive.

"We could take you over to Maureen's," Roger said reluctantly. "She only lives on the second floor of her building." He didn't really want Mark to go over there, but it was better than Mark hurting himself again, or being back at the hospital.

Mark veto'd the idea instantly though. "No, I need to be here," he said vehemently. He hobbled forward uncertainly.

Collins gave him a look this time. "You need to chill," he said sternly. He expanded the look to include Roger, which Roger thought was unfair. He wasn't doing anything. Mark was being the unreasonable one. He scowled as Collins continued. "We can get you up there, if you let us take most of your weight. Does that sound reasonable?"

Mark grumbled, and Roger worried, and Collins just looked at them until they agreed. It was a long, hard process, involving a lot of swearing, and stopping and starting again, and trying to figure out exactly what to do so that Mark's leg was jarred as little as possible. By the time they got to the top, both Mark and Roger were pale and sweating.

"We are _not_ doing that again," Roger said as he gently lowered Mark onto the dilapidated couch. He didn't think his nerves could handle it. "You're not leaving this loft again until your leg is better."

Mark nodded weakly, his face strained. "I think I agree with you on that," he said, shifting in increments until he was comfortable.

Collins went and stole the pillow off Mark's bed, tucking it behind him. "I think we can manage to take care of you until that happens."

Mark tried to scowl, but it looked much less angry now, with his hair stuck to his face and his hands trembling from exertion. "I don't need anyone to take care of me," he said. "I just needed help up the stairs. I can take care of myself."

Collins leveled yet another "be sensible" look at him. "Maybe you could, but you won't," he said. Roger nodded emphatically, glad that Mark couldn't see him. "What are friends for if not to help you in situations like this?"

Mark started to protest, but when Collins just crossed his arms he subsided grumbling against his pillow. Roger gave Collins a nod in thanks for pushing at Mark so that Roger wouldn't have to. He was right, there was no reason for Mark to strain and possibly reinjure himself when Roger and Collins were there to help.

A few hours later, it was clear that Mark did not see things that way at all. "No, I do not need a blanket, or a sandwich, or another pillow, Roger! Leave me the fuck alone!"

"You just broke your leg, I'm supposed to fucking help you!" Roger was beyond frustrated with this. Mark hadn't settled down at all since he'd been back; he was still irritable and snappish, and Roger didn't even know how to begin talking to him about it. He wasn't that good, usually, with serious conversations. Normally he didn't have that problem with Mark, but with Mark snapping at everything he said he didn't know how to begin. So he settled with just snapping back. He was good at that also.

"Just go away!"

"Fine!" Roger retreated into his room, slamming the door. He threw himself on his bed to brood, trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with Mark.

He'd just finished brooding and had decided to do some songwriting—angry songs about how stupid people are, of course—when he heard a _crash_ and muffled cursing. Pens and notebooks flew everywhere as he shot to his feet. "Mark?"

In the other room he found Mark in the kitchen, cup of water in hand and one crutch lying on the floor. Mark was staring at it irritably, obviously trying to figure out how to pick it up again since he couldn't really bend well, but his expression turned guilty when Roger came in.

"Mark, what the fuck are you doing?" he asked, going over and picking up the runaway crutch, handing it back to Mark.

Mark leaned back against the counter, trying to juggle two crutches and his cup. Roger took the cup away from him, and he glared. "I just wanted a drink of water."

"You're not supposed to be on your feet. Does the phrase _complete bed rest_ not mean anything to you?" Roger snapped, pointing back to the couch. When Mark just looked at him, he crowded closer. Mark glared at him, even took a half hearted swing at his shin with a crutch, but when Roger just snarled and loomed closer he started moving.

"I was fine!" he snapped, hobbling back towards the couch. Roger followed, herding him back to where he should have been.

"Oh yeah?" Roger challenged, handing the cup back to him once he laid back down. "And how where you going to get your crutch back?"

Mark frowned into his water, looking less angry and more guilty now. "I—" he started, trying to glare again. But then he deflated. "I don't know," he admitted. "I fucking hate this!"

"You and me both," Roger muttered. He took the crutches from Mark, surprised when Mark let go of them willingly. Mark wasn't looking at him now, continuing to frown down at his cup. He sighed softly. "I should hide these from you," he teased.

Mark looked up, peering at him to see if he was joking. "You'd better not," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Or I'll beat you with them." He drained the last of his water and set it on the floor.

Roger slid the crutches behind the couch where they wouldn't be in everyone's way and went and picked up Mark's cup too, going to put it in the sink. "I should beat you with them anyway," Mark muttered again. "Stop hovering!"

Roger looked over at him. "What is wrong with you?" He raised an eyebrow to take out the sting. "I know you're hurt, but if you don't stop acting like a dick I'm not going to give you your welcome back present."

Mark's expression didn't improve much, but he did sit up a little in interest. "You're not going to bribe me into liking this," he said moodily.

Roger threw his hands up in surrender. "Fine, I won't give your camera back to you then," he said, trying to soften Mark up. He'd never seen Mark this touchy before.

"Camera" was apparently the magic word though, because Mark's eyes flew open and the sullenness slid off his face. "You have my camera?"

"Safe and sound in my room," Roger promised, going to get it. He returned quickly. "Not broken at all," he added, walking over to the couch. "If I give you this will you at least try to stay off your feet?" he said, holding it out of Mark's reach.

Mark looked as if he wanted to try to beat Roger with his crutch again, but he promised, a smile crossing his lips for the first time since they'd left the hospital when his hands slid around the camera. He inspected it carefully. "A few scratches," he pronounced.

"Collins checked and made sure it worked," Roger volunteered. "Now can I sit or are you going to bite my head off?"

Mark's smile turned apologetic. "You can sit." He looked surprised but obliged when Roger gestured for him to sit up. Roger pulled some pillows out of the way and settled behind him, pulling Mark back to lean on him and fidgeting until they were both comfortable. There was silence for a moment, as Mark fiddled with his camera, but then he set it in his lap. "I'm sorry," he said abruptly.

"It's okay," Roger said, snaking an arm around his waist. He was glad that Mark wasn't tensing or pulling away, although he wasn't making any move to get closer. He felt Mark sigh and added, "So are you going to tell me why you're being an ass?"

"A broken leg isn't a good enough reason?" Mark asked as Roger tried to figure out how Mark felt about touching. He hadn't moved on his own yet, just let Roger arrange them.

"No," he answered. "You had a broken leg at the hospital and you weren't like this then."

Mark sighed again. "That was different, you're _supposed_ to feel bad at a hospital, and have to stay in the damn bed. But this is home, and I don't want to do that here is all!"

Roger chuckled a little. He couldn't help it—Mark sounded almost petulant. "That's it? You just don't want an excuse to sit on your ass all day and do nothing?"

"Well, no," Mark admitted. Roger was interested to see the side of Mark's face he could see turn red. "I also realized that, although I can get my camera back, I can't go out and film for _weeks_."

Roger laughed outright now. "You are such a moron," he said, palming the back of Mark's head and ruffling his hair. Mark twitched away, but settled back against him. "I thought it was something serious." Mark flinched, just slightly but enough for Roger to notice, and he stopped chuckling. "There_ is_ something serious." He wished he could see Mark's face better right now, because Mark didn't have a poker face at all, and he could have read all he needed.

However, the slight hunch of Mark's shoulders was enough for him to ignore Mark's quick "No there's not." He wriggled around so that he could see more of Mark's face. "Bullshit. What's really wrong?"

"There's nothing wrong," Mark lied badly, and Roger snorted.

"Liar," he accused.

Mark tried to peel Roger's hand from around his waist. "I think I'm tired and I should sleep some now," he said, not meeting Roger's eyes.

Roger resisted and wrapped himself more around Mark. "Tell me," he insisted, tucking his chin over Mark's shoulder and bringing both arms around him. Mark squirmed slightly and muttered more about everything being fine, and he wanted to nap, and finally, when Roger actually started tugging him gently back onto his lap, for Roger to just fuck off.

Roger smirked into Mark's neck. "Just tell me or I won't leave," he said. He began to slide his hands under Mark's shirt. "Tell me."

"Fine!" Mark burst out, his face bright red, sitting up suddenly and shoving Roger off of him. "I'm worried about my job until I can walk again. And how I'm going to pay for my share of things. And how I can't make you and Collins and Benny take care of me the whole time. And that's _weeks_ of my life lost because I fucking fell down stairs!"

He was half twisted, looking back at Roger with his face red, breathing heavily. Roger looked at him, and then carefully reached up to rub his back. "Okay, calm down." He slid another hand over Mark's shoulder even after Mark tried to flinch away. "It'll be okay." He rubbed soothingly as Mark just looked at him with no expression. Actually, now that Mark had said it, he wasn't surprised. Mark liked to do everything himself, didn't like to rely on anyone else.

"How can you say that? You don't know that," Mark said, not moving towards Roger's hands at all.

"Well first," Roger said, sitting up straighter to slide his arms around Mark's waist, "I already told you I would cover your shifts for you, and Mr. Jones knows what happened and is okay with it. Second, that's what friends do. We're not just going to fucking toss you out on your ass because you broke your leg."

Mark snorted and didn't say anything, but he wasn't relaxing either. Roger figured Mark would have to brood about this for a day or two before he resigned himself to depending on everyone else. And he was fine with that, if only Mark would do it in a way where Roger was sure that he wasn't going to accidentally re-injure himself. And as long as Roger could figure out if the brooding was in any way connected to what had happened the other night. He ran his hands up and down Mark's sides, touching since he didn't know what else to say.

Mark shifted uncomfortably, stopped, and then suddenly relaxed back into Roger. "I'm not used to you doing that," he said.

Roger waited to see if he said anything else before asking. "But you don't…mind?"

Mark immediately shook his head. "No. It's just new." He shifted, winced, and then just settled for leaning his head on Roger's shoulder. "How long have you known?"

Roger considered this. He'd known that Mark was into guys sometimes for a long time, but when did that knowing switch over to guessing that Mark liked him? "For a while," he finally said. "Or I'd guessed for a while. You're not exactly subtle."

Mark craned his neck to look at him. "People call me subtle all the time," he protested grumpily.

"Those people aren't your best friend." Roger grinned at Mark's scowl.

"If I could move without pain right now I'd beat you," Mark muttered.

"You've tried that before—it never works," Roger retorted. He shifted slightly so that Mark's shoulder wasn't digging into his side. Then he had to clarify. "So you were being an ass solely because you don't want to be stuck on the couch, not because I fell asleep in your hospital bed, right?"

Mark raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, mostly." He snorted. "Although I should be mad at you for that. 'We'll talk about this later'? And then I wake up to find you drooling on my shoulder?"

"I wasn't drooling," Roger protested. "And I didn't really mean to do that, I just…didn't leave."

Mark scoffed. "Well if I'm obvious, you have the subtlety of a ton of bricks, Rog." But then he grinned a little. "But you should have seen the look on Carla's face before you woke up. If I can't beat you, I think I could get her to do it for me." And then Roger knew that Mark really wasn't mad at all, just irritable and frustrated.

"You should be nice to me, I gave you back your camera," Roger teased.

Mark smiled and fiddled with the camera on his lap again. "Oh yeah," he said. "Thanks."

"Anytime." He tucked his arm further around Mark's waist, and smiled when he felt Mark curl a hand around him. "It's what I do."


	5. Chapter 5

**Here's the final part to this mini-series! I hope you've all enjoyed it, and that you enjoy this part!**

When Mark woke up he was alone, which surprised him. He and Roger had fallen asleep together last night, with Mark still using Roger as a pillow and Roger just kind of flopped over the end of the couch. It hadn't been the most comfortable of positions, but neither had wanted to break the moment by actually moving, and Mark at least had fallen asleep fairly soon after. He didn't like to admit it, but this whole being injured thing was tiring, even though he basically had just stayed in bed for the past few days.

He must really have been out of it though, to not feel Roger getting up. He gave a little groan as he tried to sit up, his entire body stiff and fighting him. Yeah, being injured was not fun.

Gingerly pulling himself up into a semi-sitting position, he looked around. It appeared as if the whole loft were empty. Collins' door was open and Mark figured he'd hear it if Roger were here and awake. Good, because then Roger wouldn't yell at him or hover when he got up off the couch. Complete bed rest or not, he still had to use the bathroom very badly, and he wasn't going to have Roger or Collins assist him to do that. He'd like to keep whatever dignity he had left after falling down the stairs intact, thank you very much.

A quick glance around revealed that Roger had left the crutches within reach. He grabbed them and levered himself carefully to his feet. Attempting to walk, he discovered his leg was still very painful, but he liked his mobility too much to complain about it as he maneuvered himself to the bathroom and from there to the kitchen. There was a note on the counter.

_Mark – Covering your shift. Get your food and get back to the couch. Roger_

He scowled. It was all very well for Roger to be all superior acting and protective, but just then Mark didn't appreciate it. He didn't like being in the position where he had to accept help from his friends, and he was physically limited in movement, and especially where Roger now knew about his feelings and how embarrassing they made him act. And he could be smug about it because Mark needed him now, and Roger had been the one to make the first move. If Roger had found out about Mark's feelings in some other way, at some other time, Mark wouldn't be so…unsettled. Now he just felt closed in and edgy, even while being glad that at least he didn't have to hide anymore, and that Roger liked him back. It was unsettling, to feel both ways, to say the least.

But putting a little too much pressure on his leg made him stifle a yelp and reluctantly follow Roger's direction after making himself a sandwich (which took far too long and was far too painful of a process – it was hard to do something while also holding onto crutches, he found).

"Fuck you, Roger," he muttered, hobbling back. "Fuck these crutches. And fuck my stupid leg."

As he sat down, feeling far too tired and sore from such a short trip off the couch, his eye fell on his camera sitting on their battered coffee table, and he felt a little better. He tucked his crutches out of the way and started eating his sandwich. At least that hadn't broken, and Roger had picked it up before someone else had taken it. There wasn't really anything he could film right now, unless he wanted footage of the empty loft, but it reassured him to see it sitting there, unharmed. It wasn't even scratched, really.

He stuffed the last corner of his sandwich in his mouth and pulled the camera over to him to give it a thorough checking. He'd been able to give it a quick glance when Roger had given it to him, but he wanted to make sure everything was okay.

He was in the throes of making sure nothing had gotten damaged internally when Collins walked in. "Hey Collins," he said, barely looking up before focusing back in on the camera.

"Hey Mark," Collins called back, going into his room and then returning without his coat. "How are you feeling? You were so asleep when I left you didn't move the whole time I was eating breakfast."

Mark shot him a glance at that, but there was nothing in Collins face to suggest that Roger had still been with him on the couch during that time. "I'm feeling alright. Get tired faster though," he said as casually as he could, which wasn't very casual at all. Damn it, Roger was probably right when he'd said Mark wasn't that subtle. "And I hurt."

"You take the pills they gave you?" Mark shook his head sheepishly—he'd actually forgotten about those—and Collins walked over and got them. "Of course," he said, dumping the pills into Mark's hand, "I'd be a little stiff if I slept draped over someone that way."

Mark's eyes flew up to meet Collins'. "Uh," was all he could manage to say.

Collins merely screwed the lid of the pill bottle on and continued. "You and Roger looked about as uncomfortable as two grown men sharing a couch could get when I came in last night, but neither of you moved while I was here at least." A wide grin spread across his face when Mark could only stare. "So, when did you tell him?"

Mark didn't bother pretending he didn't know what Collins was talking about, or denying it—Collins would obviously not believe him. "I didn't tell him anything. He already _knew_," Mark said accusingly, shooting Collins a look.

Collins shook his head. "It wasn't me," he defended himself, but he spoiled the effect by raising an eyebrow. "I'm impressed though, I thought he was oblivious."

"Apparently not," Mark muttered. Collins snorted and he suddenly became involved with his camera again. "He kissed me at the hospital, that night after you all visited."

Collins made a small, pleased sound. "So that's where he was," he said. "He didn't come back that night, and he wouldn't tell me where he'd been." Mark sneaked a look back up at him and saw him smirking. "So was he there…all night?"

Mark slowly nodded, and Collins other eyebrow flew up. "He spent all night with you? In a hospital chair? Damn, the boy is _gone_."

Mark could feel himself turning red. "Well, he wasn't precisely, in the chair," he mumbled, wishing he would just shut up. But he felt compelled to talk around Collins. More of his unsubtlety at work, he supposed. Roger had probably jinxed him. He started when Collins threw back his head and laughed.

"You let him spend the night in bed with you in a hospital?" he said between chuckled. "Mark, I wouldn't have expected that from you!" And Mark didn't get the chance to explain that he hadn't exactly _let_ Roger sleep in his bed before Collins was continuing. "No wonder he came home and took such trouble with that thing," he said, pointing to Mark's camera.

Mark looked from it to Collins in bewilderment. "Took such trouble with it?" he repeated, hands clutching around it instinctively. "But he just picked it up and gave it back to me." It hadn't been broken or anything that would cause him any trouble…

"It had a few cracks in it after that fall," Collins said cheerfully. "But Roger came back and went out and got them all fixed."

Mark's mind stuttered over this new development. Broken? It had been _broken_? And Roger had fixed it for him? Collins continued, oblivious to Mark's shock. "Found someone to do a damn fine job of it too. Looks new almost."

His mind took another nosedive, prompted by the horrible feeling that his camera had completely broken, and Roger had gotten him a completely different one, and he hadn't been planning on telling Mark, and how was Mark supposed to repay him for that—and then that train of thought died thankfully when his searching eyes found the scrawled "Mark Cohen" his eleventh grade self had written on the bottom when he'd first been given the camera. It was still his. Just fixed.

That was still bad though. Cameras like his weren't exactly cheap to fix, as he'd found out before. And Roger had specifically told him that his camera hadn't broken at all. And he knew Roger was saving up for some equipment for his band, and—he was interrupted by Collins' hand patting him gently on his shoulder.

"Maybe you should take a nap," his friend suggested. "You look a little pale still."

Mark looked up at him and blinked. "Yeah, maybe I will," he said vaguely, still mulling about the implications of this. He barely noticed when Collins wandered back to his room with a benevolent smile and a "sleep well."

In the end, he took Collins' advice and went back to sleep. Actually, he had just worried about it until he'd given himself a headache, but pretending he was being smart sounded better. And it wasn't doing him any good to stew about it, and Roger probably wasn't going to be back for a while. So he settled his camera carefully on the floor beside the couch and closed his eyes.

When he woke up, someone was petting him, fingers riffling through hair to run soothingly over his scalp. He made a content noise and rubbed up against the hand before opening his eyes to see Roger's face upside down above him from where he was sitting on the couch arm behind Mark's head. "Hey," he said.

Mark smiled sleepily, not quite awake yet. "Hey."

"How are you?"

Mark gave a smile intended to say that he was fine, stop worrying, and started to sit up. "Good." He ignored Roger's helping hands and pulled himself up, finally managing to lean up against Roger. "I thought you had band practice."

"I did, it's night."

"Oh." Mark blinked, trying to reorient his mind. He'd slept clear through the day? Was that healthy? But he was waking up now, and he remembered why exactly he'd gone back to sleep so early. He pulled himself up again, trying to twist around to see Roger. "We need to talk."

"About what?" Roger asked. He obligingly slid around to sit on the floor facing Mark so that Mark could look at him easier.

"About you fixing my camera." Mark threw it out there, just to see what kind of reaction he was going to get. He didn't even know where he was going with this—just that he needed to talk about it.

Roger's eyes widened before his face became carefully blank. "It wasn't broken," he said, giving an easy smile.

So Roger wanted to pretend it hadn't happened. That made a happy sensation flutter briefly inside his chest before it went away again, replaced by a kind of embarrassment. It was nice of Roger, really, to do that, but Mark had a hard time accepting that kind of generosity. Even if he was in some kind of undefined relationship with the giver. Or maybe especially because of that. He didn't want Roger to feel as if he needed to coddle Mark more, just because he knew Mark had feelings for him. Mark wasn't signing up for that. So he just gave Roger a look. "Collins told me."

The grin slowly slid off of Roger's face. "That fucker," he muttered. "He promised not to—" His look turned sheepish, and he cleared his throat. "I mean…"

Mark raised an eyebrow. "So were you going to tell me?"

Solemnly, Roger shook his head no. "We decided not to tell you until you got back from the hospital…that it had broken, because you would have worried about it otherwise. And then after I stayed the night, I just decided to fix it myself and not tell you, because otherwise you wouldn't have let me do it. Right?"

Mark reluctantly nodded. He definitely would have argued against Roger fixing his camera. "But I'm still going to repay—"

"Mark, you're not," Roger interrupted. "You are not paying me back for this."

"But," Mark protested, frowning.

"Nope, I'm not taking anything from you." Roger held up his hands. "It's a gift, and I'm entitled to give you gifts."

"You are?" Mark frowned more, although it didn't seem to deter Roger. "I don't remember agreeing to that."

Roger pointed at him. "When you admitted to liking me by kissing me back, you entitled me to give gifts. Don't fight it."

"But—" Mark sighed and gave up. He'd just have to buy Roger something later to make up for it.

"And you're not allowed to buy me something later either."

"Wha—" Mark scowled. Maybe Roger could read his mind. "So you can give me gifts but I can't do the same?"

Roger smirked. "Oh, you can give me gifts, but they can't be the equivalent of fixing your camera, or that's just payback." He coughed. "Although, I guess you have paid me back."

Mark eyed him suspiciously. "How?" He didn't remember getting Roger anything…

"Well, first, you are stuck on that couch, so you're at my mercy. Which is too good a situation not to take advantage of."

Mark scowled more and was about to retort when he was stopped by Roger holding up a finger. "And, umm, when I got your camera fixed, I might also have gotten the guy to develop the film that was in it…"

Mark's eyes flew open wide. "You didn't," he said incredulously. Shit, oh shit, that meant…

Roger smirked. "You _were_ filming my ass when you fell," he gloated. "And I have evidence of it!"

"Roger…" Mark protested, trying to think of some way to deny it.

Roger leaned in close to Mark's face. "And if you're not a good patient, I can tell Collins and Benny exactly why you're stuck on that couch," he threatened teasingly.

"You wouldn't!"

"I would," Roger insisted. Mark believed him.

"I'll be able to get up eventually," he muttered. "And then I can beat you." He could feel a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth. It was too hard to stay mad at Roger, especially when he hadn't exactly been mad anyway…

Roger closed the distance between them and gave him a brief peck on the lips. "You can try," he laughed. "But until then you have to listen to me."

"I hate you," Mark said, contradicting that by leaning in for another kiss.

"No you don't."

"I do!"

More kissing.

"How about we watch that film you fell taping?"

"Okay, _now_ I hate you."

"Or I could play you some new songs from the band."

"Much better."


End file.
